


Watching the Flashbacks Intertwine

by mistics



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Agent Life, Bittersweet, Character Study, Ethan is a Thrillseeker, Introspection, M/M, Metaphors, Overthinking Will, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24313834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistics/pseuds/mistics
Summary: Maybe one day Ethan will watch him back.Or: Will muses about his relationship with one Ethan Hunt.
Relationships: William Brandt/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Watching the Flashbacks Intertwine

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching MI4 again and couldn’t stop thinking about these two. So here, have some introspective wankery.

Ethan’s smiles are a shameless, generous gleam of teeth that are as deadly as they are inviting, and his need for adrenaline highs is bone-deep. The source of that high could be any number of things: it could be a precarious heist, with the fate of numerous states’ integrity depending on it; a twisting, close-combat scuffle meant to relieve some pent-up aggression; even a casual climb up a cliff will feed his hunger for an instant. Regardless of the reason behind his racing blood, however, he needs that fix, the ecstasy of endless suspension. Ethan craves the all-encompassing rush of _action_ the way a framed man craves _vindication_ : it’s his right.

This doesn’t bother him. Quite the opposite, really—Ethan is as in tune with his natural inclinations as it gets. Will envies it, on occasion, how his team-leader-come-partner can become so immersed in the act of _doing_ , hooked on the gratification of success, that his entire being zeros in on getting that win. His mind and body work so efficiently together as one, those muscular, graceful limbs aligned with that razor-sharp wit in everything he does, whether it’s freerunning, negotiating, fucking… Ethan’s confidence in his physicality is both oddly reassuring and annoyingly arousing at the best of times.

But Will—Will can often feel trapped in a prison of his mind’s own making. For him, any situation will eventually evolve into an obsessive game of nitpicking and second-guessing; even when he’s “off-duty”, Will’s subconscious plays out myriad scenarios in which success hinges on _this_ intel being the case or _that_ relationship advancing as logic might dictate. The analyst’s mind is an ever-turbulent whirlwind of thoughts that ascend in a swirl of _what-ifs_ and _maybes_ , never offering a solid foundation to ground his anxieties.

The pair of them are like electricity to fire. Will is a well-worn computer that never switches off, his mind a neverending network of calculations and possibilities; Ethan’s a live wire of impulsive energy, a civilised lion who commands his chosen territory and pride with a king’s characteristic charisma and guile.

Maybe, then, that’s why he and Ethan come together like a friction burn. In the back of his mind, Ethan starts as a spark that alights into a thousand embers, casting his essence into Will’s centre—the eye of the hurricane. Attracted by the strength of their connection, they test the line between coworkers and lovers, the uncertainty forever burning away at Will’s awareness. Still, a hint of something deeper than just basic chemistry lurks in the few moments they steal for themselves between missions, in the downtime that never really _is_ downtime, but Will appreciates it all the same; respite is precious and hard to come by.

Perhaps it’s in these moments where he feels the stirrings of something _more_.

As operations trudge by—chases on German highways, and hiding in Taiwanese street markets, and long nights in Peruvian hotels—he starts to appreciate the canny instruction of that silver tongue and the naturalness with which Ethan leads. Their team of four is a tense, volatile dynamic. The end of the world is always looming over their heads. What's the adhesive that keeps their metaphorical eraser ball entangled? Why, snippy banter, of course. Back-and-forth wisecracks are the team’s designated supply of sanity, and no-one passes up the chance for a smart quip in the face of impending doom.

The tension that strangles his repartee with Ethan, however, seems specifically designed to _unravel_ his sanity. Nothing else seems to matter when Ethan’s eyes narrow in consideration at Will, having found a new target for their four-way game of verbal ping-pong. He’s fixated on the impish tilt of the other’s lips, growing fond of that throaty laugh when teasing words tangle with Will’s wry humour. Ethan’s tenacity is impossible to deny—he’s helpless to resist that concentrated charm, all bundled up, in the coy smile he reserves for Will, as though there’s a funny little secret that only the two of them can share in.

He begins to fall in love with the brightness in Ethan’s light blue eyes when they kiss; the darkness that clouds them when Will, sick of wordplay, corners him against a wall and _takes_ him right there; the way that blue engulfs Ethan’s pupils when he’s turned on, and how impatience mars those eyes when he tugs on their pendulum of power and paws at Will’s shoulders, his nails tearing at skin.

Loves it when Ethan pins him with that feline precision and rides him for all he’s worth, making punched-out _ahs_ at the snugness, the savage rhythm causing sweat to pool where their bodies are tightly entwined. His hair is sticky with it as Will cards a hand through the damp strands, fingers exploring the contours of his back and moving up to where his face is buried in Will’s neck. Any coherent thought is temporarily lost in that incredible heat and the headiness of _being inside Ethan Hunt_.

He thinks that Ethan might love it too, when his fevered breathing calms in the comedown from their shared high, euphoria and the scent of sex heavy in the air. Thinks he feels the addictiveness of the slow slide-out as he climbs off Will, thighs unsteady, and winces at the lingering ache. Could love the quietness in the aftermath, where they’re just content to _be_ , comfortable in the knowledge of each other’s safety, however brief. May grow to love how they collapse into bed together after a good day’s work, mutual tiredness rendering them unable to do anything except hold each other and listen to the sounds of the night. Might, might, might…

But Will’s a man familiar with the insanity of dwelling in possibilities—none of which have assigned a name or real substance to their relationship. Ethan is married to the objective, to busy days and accomplishment: all too often, Will feels like a mistress fighting for a taken man's attention. The time they spend together is fraying and frustratingly short. He’s constantly reminded of the fact that Ethan is a reckless _fuck_ , in every possible sense. While some days, all Will wants is to tether himself to the channel of conviction that is Ethan, other days he feels like shouting himself hoarse, exasperated and out of his mind with worry when his daredevil ass goes missing for months on end, or finds a new set of bones to break, or hijacks a helicopter and flies it right into the Himalayan cliffside. (Will has given him so much shit for that one.)

All for the mission. And there’s nothing he can do about it.

Ethan’s a restless soul, and while Will would love to keep him pressed close to his chest, safe in his arms, he _knows_ the man, knows that he can’t stand being held in one place forever, has known it since he first trailed a straying shadow in Croatia and saw how civilian life with Julia wasn’t always enough to satisfy that desire.

Will may have returned to agent life, but if there’s anything he’s taken from that op, it’s how the burden of failure weighs heavier on his conscience than the dizzying highs of success. On every subsequent mission, that burden becomes more and more difficult to bear. While Julia may be alive, and while it may have all been an elaborate set-up, it doesn’t erase the months of sleepless, guilt-filled nights, the sharp pain in his chest he still gets when he wakes beside Ethan, and the acrid tang of his own weakness as another apology gets stuck, unsaid, in his mouth.

He doesn’t know what will come out if he lends a voice to his turmoil.

Out there, in the field, death and treachery is the norm. Allegiances switch at the drop of a hat and bodies hit the floor with disturbing familiarity, former allies and enemies alike in their unnatural stillness at the end. The sheer intensity and abundance of variables involved can be too much for him, sometimes. Somedays, it feels like his good sense is evaporating from his body.

He’s not like Ethan. Ethan lives for the precarious thrill of the unknown: he has an innate flair for improv, he knows how to fly by the seat of his pants, and when all’s said and done, he’s able to compartmentalise everything and everyone into neat little boxes to retain what‘s left of his sanity. It’s certainly admirable.

But Will's not wired like that.

One of the maddening things about Ethan, believe it or not, is his winning mentality. For him, hypercompetence _is_ the standard. He’s so used to working against the odds, used to setting himself impossible targets _and reaching them_ , that the very notion of failure is discarded and buried before it can even reach his consciousness. Doubts are incinerated in the face of that single-minded light.

And this makes it hard for him to understand that Will's built differently. That even if he _can_ fight, and is able to match Ethan hand-to-hand, back-to-back, it doesn't necessarily mean he _wants_ to stake his life on mortal combat. Will doesn't come from the same breed of adrenaline junkie that Ethan does (and Jane, and Hanaway, and countless others in their line of work). He may have started on guard detail, but he’s more at home on the backlines, overseeing things with the Secretary: he prefers being the brain, the hand that moves the pieces, rather than stuck out there with nothing but a comlink for guidance. Man, does he miss having some degree of control over his external environment—he barely has a grip on his internal one as is.

So Will contents himself with watching. He watches as Jane leaves their cobbled-together foursome without much palaver, still nursing her grief. Watches the building rapport between Ethan and Benji in the months following, from hero and hero-worshipper to a more sincere friendship. Continues watching, even after Will himself tenders a second fieldwork resignation and leaves them as two, deep-seated exhaustion in his every step as he walks away, back to the security of the office and away from the highs and the lows of field op life. He runs away from the _what-if_ of their non-relationship, from Ethan and his secretive smiles and steel nerves.

Watches, somewhat wistfully, as Ethan throws a warm arm around Ilsa Faust, his head thrown back and lips parted in laughter. The long line of his neck is exposed as he smirks at her—a new confidant privy to his private thoughts. (It sends an unpleasant pulse of possessiveness through him, but Will convinces himself to let it go. He’s had his chance, and really, Ethan Hunt settles for _nobody_. Or at least that’s what he’s been led to believe.)

Watches, from afar, how time slowly starts to creep up on the IMF’s star agent. Every mission seems to add a new wrinkle to his brow, the weight of the world pressing harder and harder onto his shoulders, and Will doesn’t think he’s imagining the faint loneliness that crosses Ethan’s face at the fact that there's no-one to bear it with him. Still, Will only watches.

Maybe one day Ethan will watch him back.

~~~

_Promise to hold you close and pray  
Watching the fantasies decay  
Nothing will ever stay the same_  


_~_  


_All of the love we left behind  
Watching the flashbacks intertwine  
Memories I will never find  
Memories I will never find_

  
**[Falling Away With You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fU88nehcnBY) by Muse**

**Author's Note:**

> Sidenote: it’s been nine or so years since Ghost Protocol came out, and I still haven’t come across a consistent ship name for Hunt/Brandt. Handt? Brunt? Brandthunt? Anyway…
> 
> I haven’t shared my writing here before, so any and all feedback is appreciated!


End file.
